


Mera's Mask

by RunawayDragons



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7087255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunawayDragons/pseuds/RunawayDragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm horrible at titles, so please don't hold it against the fic, it doesn't do it justice.<br/>Mera Hawke has a hard time keeping up appearances after Leandra's death. Takes place before the confrontation with the Arishok.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mera's Mask

Mera Hawke learned at an early age that it is easy to hide what your hands are doing when your words are distracting enough, add a charming smile, and it is a wonder what you can get away with. It started as a trick to keep her small thefts of things for the twins a secret, later on it became a way to hide her magic from anyone who might suspect her of being a mage. Many years of practice, plus lots of trial and error, had left her with the final product of a very successful mask, one full of wit, charm, and bravado. Soon, she had to keep up the act so much, that even her own family considered it her personality, and not the sort of coping mechanism it really was.  


If she was honest with herself, by the time Hawke was an adult, she couldn’t always tell what was the real her and what wasn’t anymore; but that wasn’t as important as keeping her family safe, if losing herself meant they were okay, then it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.  


Once in awhile, the strength it took to keep up appearances would become too much, and she’d have to disappear for a bit. Sometimes just an evening was enough, but occasionally she’d need a couple days to herself, so she’d come up with an excuse, leave Douglas in charge of protecting her mother, and take off. Since moving to Kirkwall this had become increasingly difficult to arrange, and the lack of down time had left her feeling more worn than usual. She handled it though, it was rough, but so many things had to be done, people to be helped, it felt far too selfish to let things slide just so she could go be by herself for a while.  


And then Leandra was killed. Mera’s whole world fell apart. She felt brittle, and broken. It took her a week to be able to resume her duties, but she did, she soldiered on, because it is what needed to be done. After that she didn’t really care about what was the real her, and what was the mask anymore. What was the point? Carver was her only family left, not counting Gamlen, who barely qualified as family anyways, and her brother had made it abundantly clear he was happy without his eldest sister in his life.  


She buried herself in cleaning up Kirkwall, dealing with the Qunari complications, and trying desperately to nail Sister Patrice to the fucking wall. Her friends could sometimes be caught whispering to each other in worried tones, they’d glance at her when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. Aveline started asking her to come by the barracks for dinner, Isabella wanted a shopping buddy, Anders could use more help at the clinic, Varric would mention his open door policy, Merrill would suddenly appear in her library, making excuses about needing books for research help, Sebastian would not so subtly drop hints about attending mass at the Chantry.  


Fenris didn’t offer anything, but he was always waiting in the hall when it was time to start patrolling. He wouldn’t strike up a conversation, he’d just be nearby, silent and steady. Some nights, when they weren’t due to hunt for trouble, he’d still show up; sometimes they’d just go for a walk around Hightown, other times he’d ask for help with learning how to read. Her favorite was when he’d just sit next to her while they stared into the fireplace, sharing space, while thinking their own thoughts.  


It was about three months after Leandra’s death that Mera’s friends decided she didn’t need babysitting anymore, and she was glad to notice the pressure was off. Once free of someone always popping in to check on her, she decided it was time to have some time to herself again.  


Dressed in her old mercenary garb, faithful Doug at her side, she waited until the city was quiet before she slipped out of the house and made her way to the Hanged Man. Once there, she got herself a pint of cider and hid in a corner. Confident she wouldn’t be running into any of her friends, as they had their own routines, and this was one of the few evenings every week that drinking at the tavern wasn’t part of their schedules, Mera relaxed and let the mask disappear for the first time in what felt like forever. Her shoulders sagged, the lines at the corners of her eyes deepened, and air rushed out in a soft sigh of relief.  


Doug was snoring at her feet, and she was on her fourth mug of cider when a familiar groan penetrated her fog of inebriation. Too drunk, and too tired, Mera didn’t bother to slip back into her mask, into the bravado of the famous Hawke, before turning to glance over at her brother.  


“Hello, Carver.” The words had felt thick and heavy in her mouth, she’d wanted to call him brother, but had known that would’ve annoyed him even more at that moment.  


“What are you doing here? This isn’t your night to be at the Hanged Man.” Carver snapped at her, his expression of distaste making him look more like Gamlen than mother.  


Mera just stared at him for a good minute, which made him obviously uncomfortable, as normally she’d have instantly responded with something sarcastic or witty, he doesn’t know how to deal with silence from her.  


“Sit your ass down, little brother, I won’t bother you.” Her tone is dry, humorless, and slightly sad.  


Completely confused, Carver does sit down, at the end of her bench, and just stares at her while he sips at his ale. Douglas greets the templar happily, distracting Carver for a moment, giving Mera a moment to study him in return. He’s broader, all the templar training having obviously paid off. The callus on his hands is thicker, and he has a few new scars. There is a heaviness to the way he carries himself now, which makes her wonder what kind of problems her brother has had to deal with to make him seem so weary. She is tempted to ask, but stifles the urge, knowing he wouldn’t tell her.  


“So, Mera…” Carver trails off, making it clear that he doesn’t know what to say. Hawke would jump in, make a joke, ask about his love life, but Mera? Mera is tired, and doesn’t feel like doing him any favors. Mera is feeling bitter, as this is the first time she’s seen or heard from her brother since the funeral. So she lets him hang, lets him stare awkwardly at the mug in his hands, while she finishes off her own cider and motions to Nora for a refill.  


It is an agonizingly long amount of time before the silence is broken, and it is Carver who breaks it, two mugs of ale, and a dose of annoyed anger fueling him,  


“You’re such an ass, sister.”  


Mera clenches her jaw, teeth grinding as she turns to stare at him with her sea colored eyes. She knows she should be angry, but instead she just feels sad, the pressure of that sadness making the heaviness she is feeling even stronger.  


“Carver, I’m tired, can we not do this right now? Please?” She replied.  


“What is up with you? Where is the jokes and the cutting retorts? Where is the fabled Hawke who everyone goes on and on about?” Carver said, sounding slightly less angry, but still very much annoyed.  


“Andraste’s ass if I know…” Mera snorts, then contemplates the last of her cider, wondering how much of a hangover she is willing to deal with in the morning. Deciding that she doesn’t care, she finishes her drink before realizing that Carver has been looking at her funny.  


“Did it ever occur to you, that maybe I’m not the person that everyone thinks I am. That witty one liners, and a charming smile isn’t all I am? Don’t you remember me? The real me? The one that was existed before it became my job to protect the family?” She can’t help but sound a bit bitter, can’t help but try to stop the lump that is trying to form in her throat.  


Carver stares at her, and she is sure he is trying to decide if she’s serious or not, if this is some weird joke she is trying to pull. Fuck, she is far too tired to deal with an argument with him right now. So she speaks before he has a chance to,  


“Look, let me put this simply for you, I have always done what I had to protect myself and my family. I gave up a lot, and I still wasn’t able to take care of everyone, despite my best efforts. Before father left us, I was able to be me, afterwards I had to be somebody else, someone who could keep the templars away, who could make sure I was the focus, so if anything happened, you could get mother and Bethany to safety. If I’d had any other option I would have gladly stayed the quiet bookworm who liked to steal you sweets when we didn’t have enough money for mother to buy sugar to bake with.”  


Her words bring memories back, and the emotions that go with those memories threatens to overwhelm her. Not willing to start crying in front of her sibling, Mera does her best to stand up gracefully, a hard thing to do with the current amount of alcohol in her system. Douglas rises with her, giving her something sturdy to lean on as she extricates herself from the bench carefully.  


She doesn’t even look at Carver, or bid him farewell, certain that if she opens her mouth she will not be able to stop herself from either vomiting, or crying, or a horrible combination of both. So instead she loops the fingers of her right hand through Douglas’ collar, and lets him lead her out of the tavern, and then towards home.  


The cool air helps to sooth her stomach, as does the apple she discovers in the pocket of her coat, probably put there by a well meaning Bodhan. Halfway home she doesn’t need to hold onto Doug anymore for balance, and once she arrives at the front door she is feeling much better.  
She lets herself into the estate as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake anyone. She slips her shoes off, and strips most of her grimy clothes off as soon as she is inside the entryway, a habit she’d developed, at mother’s insisting, years ago. Dirty things are left in the hamper waiting for them, and she slips into a clean set of house clothes kept in the closet by the door.  


The fire is only coals in the fireplace in her room, but that only takes a moment to fix. She watches the flames for a few minutes, trying to distract herself from the ache in her heart. Unsuccessful, she steps back to sit on the edge of her bed, and then jumps back up, startled. There is someone asleep in the chair behind her, still open, door. Before she has a chance to react really, she realizes it is Fenris, instantly becoming more relaxed.  


She is tempted to move closer, but resists, unsure of how he’d react if woken up. So, instead, she settles for watching him sleep, enjoying this opportunity to stare at him without bothering him. His features are softer, much of his usual tension erased by sleep. Mera’s heart thumps heavily, giving her butterflies. She ignores it, as she has been for years now, because he’d asked for space, because their intimacy had brought him pain, and she loves him too much to disrespect his wishes. It had been awkward for so long, but they’d settled into friendship, and lately it had been something slightly more, but it was up to him, she let him set the boundaries of their relationship.  


Douglas interrupts her thoughts by entering the room and throwing himself down next to the fire with a hard thump of canine exhaustion. She sighs, and turns to find a spare blanket to throw over the elf in the corner. Once he is gently tucked in, she shuts her door to keep the heat in, and retires.  


Sleep claims her quickly. It is a good deep sleep, at least until the same old nightmare returns, as she battles the ogre all over again, and watches helplessly as her sister is bashed into the ground, except after it is dead, she is crying over the lifeless forms of both Bethany and her mother, while Carver just walks away, leaving her alone as her family withers away and turns to dust. The horror of it all brings her almost to wakefulness, but suddenly she is aware of extra weight on the mattress, and the loneliness lifts just enough for her to fall back to sleep.  


In the morning she wakes slowly, feeling comfortable and safe. It takes Mera a moment to realize that there is an arm wrapped lightly around her, a lyrium tattooed arm, in fact. She’d assumed Doug had hopped onto her bed, but she realizes that assumption was decidedly wrong. This reality is much better, her heart thumps heavily again, and this time it is much harder to ignore. Ever so gently, she shifts onto her back so she can turn her head and make sure this is real, and not just another dream.  


Bright green eyes and tousled white hair greet her, and she can’t help but smile the kind of smile that comes from that happy place in your soul, where you know with your whole being that you’re in love.  


“Good morning.” Fenris’ voice is heavy with sleep, but she can’t help but feel a jolt of joy that he doesn’t move his arm even though he is now awake.  


“Morning…” She replies, completely at a loss, not sure if she should keep talking. She just stares at him, feeling shy, and full of butterflies.  


“You were having a nightmare.” There is no question in his voice, just the unspoken understanding that he knows all about bad dreams, and she doesn’t need to explain what she’d been dreaming about to him. A wave of gratitude washes over her, bringing relief with it, and she can’t keep herself from letting a few silent tears fall. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as she feels the weight she’s been carrying lighten.  


Her eyes fly back open though, when she feels his forehead touch hers gently. The contact is surprising, but very welcome, like an anchor that helps her ride out her emotions. She is tempted to speak, but can’t find the words, so she lets the silence stretch on, and rather than become strained, it comforts, bringing peace.  


After a while they’re forced to rise and get dressed. They still enjoy the quiet as she helps him with his armor, and he waits for her to change. Once downstairs, and eating breakfast, she realizes something has changed, there is something there that wasn’t before. Something good, something promising, something that has helped her finally start to heal. Maybe it was finally letting Carver see part of the real Mera, or maybe it is this shift in her relationship with the person she loves, or maybe it is both. But, either way, she doesn’t feel so brittle or broken anymore, she doesn’t feel like half a person, she feels more like herself.


End file.
